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The high priest led the way through the streets of Dokoro, a vast expanse of streets and ally ways which seemed to outsiders much like a maze. Every now and then one would pass by a vast tower however, most of the city even claimed that these towers were how they chose to navigate from day to day. Some might find it some what odd however, to see an apparent trend within the city. Where only a few high rising towers stood about the land, at their feet were crumbling shacks, and cheap housing. The lords of the city were clearly marked, with their luxurious high rises, while the people which their greedy fingers crept down to remove their wealth remained impoverished. This was a rarity in the world by the princes eyes, for in Garnoff the income was equal to the effort more often than not. With the favor of the tyrant however, these lords had taken from the city's people their means for goods.

The two men walked down the pathways until they reached a home constructed upon the side of a crumbling building.

"Welcome prince Oban Sorian to my humble home." Sir Gashrious announced, swinging open the doorway. The inside was quite similar to the outside, though much more well kept. It appeared as if they had purposely gone about to clean up the innards of their home while leaving the exterior to rot away. Perhaps it was their way of defending from robbery.

"A king's priest is housed in a place such as this?" Oban asked, a fowl appearance upon his face.

"As much a compliment as we've ever gotten I suppose," Gashrious chuckled, for he knew the man had not intended to be rude with his statement. "I know where your thoughts lie, but as you may have thought by now, the putrid king believes far more in his own power than that of our city's sacred deity. The ruins just beyond our home were once stones which were held high, crafting a church for all to arrive and praise." The words seemed bitter to the elder man, for he had watched since the day the tyrant had taken over as the temple was left to dust.

"We shall wait here until the appropriate time...do be patient, and feel free to share our supper." He stated to the young man, sitting upon a wooden seat. "You are welcome to meet with my family...my daughter and grandchildren should be along shortly." He explained. Gashrious would offer that the prince meet his own wife, or perhaps his son in law, but neither were among them any longer. Often he missed the days when the priest could live among his beloved wife, but those days were long past.

"How long have these been here?" Oban asked, brushing aside a cluster of cob webs. The walls were caked with dead algea, and there was no need to fear spiders or serpents for none would dare lurk this deep within for too long in fear that they may freeze or starve. The stones themselves seemed to erode, yet some how they held quite well to support the structure. Gashrious attempted to turn as best he could, though the corridor was quite cramped.

"These have been here since the council gave birth to one of the earliest democracies of any city." The old preist began, leading further into the tunnel. "At one time you could actually stand up tall within this place...though the weight had brough low the roof." The elder man couldn't help but laugh, for he knew exactly the face Oban was making at this time.

It wasn't long until they reached a portion which was not so old however, and the cave carved from the catacombs beneath the church became a stair case leading upwards. The new area had little more life than the previous, the only real changes being that there was no longer black grime upon the stone, and one would not be so uncertain of it's sturdyness. Gashrious then turned, for he now had the space to do so, and whispered.

"We are now between the inner and outer walls of the lady's tower, you must hinder your voice to a whisper, unless you feel the need to speak with the king and his assassins." The warning was not lost on the wise prince, and soon the pair began to climb the stairway to Menna's quarters. Carrying the torch all the way to the top of the winding path way, Gashrious soon had need to take a seat.

"Oh it has been long indeed since I climbed these steps...I should do so more often, though I wouldn't want to concern hour honored host...I don't believe she is aware of this passage." The priest continued. Originally he had only kept the opportunities from the lady for fear that her flight may occur, and have the Dread Knights, one of the four highest ranked of the Black Diamond Knights, making chase. Now however, her escape from the city was inevitable, and made the pathway no more than a long path to the goal ahead.

"Just beyond....open...with the switch..." Gashrious panted a bit, for they had climbed literally every floor in the castle, and considering that they were now at the top floor, he had more than proven his maintained youth.

"Very well, are you alright?" Oban asked, for he held concern for the man with many years behind him. His brow furrowed as his face showed compasion for one of the few respectable occupants of the tyrant city.

"Fine young lord, simply winded is all. Do not forget that I myself was once a Dread Knight, Sir Gashrious the Stallion." The priest reminded the young man, a legendary title indeed. Nodding in understanding the lord made his way up the path to the room. Upon meeting a dead end, the lord began to feel the dusty walls with his open palms, rubbing their sides to discover the switch which the priest had mentioned. For a long time he was without success, but he was patient, and continued his search. Eventually he stumbled upon a brick which was loose when compaired the others, one which stuck outwards far more than one might expect. Pressing gently, Oban inserted the brick into the remaining space behind it.


Within the lady's chamber, a wardrobe began to shift off to the side. One might find it odd, considering that the item would not budge during the times when the bedding and furniture had been rearanged. Beyond the opening in the wall, a dark figure stepped forth, slipping into the light and giving a low gentlemen like bow.

"My lady, I have some information for you." Rokan Tartanius replied. Sweeping back his cloak revealing the numerous weapons upon his person. He smiled wide, and though this smile had taken a number of the foolish ladies of the land numerous times for the deadly man, it had never pleased those who knew the black cloaked Dread Knight. "Your father informs me that I am to be sure your skills of change have not been lost." The assassin continued, his voice low and ominous.

"We are going to perform an exercise you have yet to attempt. Skyron, the claimed heir to the throne of Garnoff, though I'm sure Doko will turn it into a reality by threat of war. He is someone you know of but you can not obtain a reference to his appearance." Stepping about the room, though his boots made not a whisper of sound upon neither wood nor rug, the assassin took hold of the large mirror, held in a manner so that it could be adjusted properly. "Without Skyron here, you will need to find his form by memory," Rokan's low menacing voice seemed as if to echo in the mind, yet not upon the walls. Throwing his arm downward, the lengthy reflective item was turned about so that the princess could not see herself. "You have yet to learn morph memory by touch as I recall...and without being able to see yourself it shall be ever more difficult. Now..." He paused, turning to face the young woman, with a glint in his eye. "Impress me my lady."

Rokan took a seat upon one of the numerous cushions which littered the floor of her royal chamber, though they were intended to create the appearance of luxury, it did not mean they were not comfortable. His black cloak draping over the surrounding pillows, and his arms rested upon his knees, still near to yet more weaponry he had concealed upon his person, the Dread Knight watched for any flaws she might perform.

"You'll only need his form because it is good practice..." Rokan answered vaguely in his deep tone. Crossing his arms over his chest, the assassin gazed upon the young woman with his dark eyes, as she made the change into another form. Her appearance shifted, allowing her to morph in a manner which seemed like growing, rather than the typical sight the assassin witnessed of the Cerberus Pack "Deforming and Reforming" as he put it. The manner which she discretely restructured herself was perhaps her greatest attribute as a morph. As she completed her shift, only her dainty feet remained. Sighing, the assassin leaned back against the wall behind him.

"Very good, you managed to alter the area which reveals the truth of your form. The feet... far better than a hand of course, for as a royal family member you would have need to shake hands, or perhaps give a bow lead by one. On the other hand, your form is still not perfect." Rokan would now begin to teach her why the feet were little better left misshapen. It had been a problem that the assassin had faced before as a novice, but he had found solution to his difficulties upon the age of seven. "Your feet may be easily covered, this is true, but they are also an important part of balance. As you step forth as Skyron, others may realize that you are not he simply because of the way you place one foot in front of the other to keep balance." The cloaked man waved his hand about as if he were making an obvious statement to the child.

"I believe you have progressed enough to leave my lessons behind...though I warn you, should you need that form you must either practice your stride, or carry with you a mug of ale."Tartanius stood then, stepping back to the mirror, and continuing by flipping it back to it's original position. Soon Menna would realize just how remarkably well she had imitated the prince of Garnoff. Standing before the young lady, the assassin gave a low bow, and appeared more like a kind teacher than ever before...perhaps for a reason....

"And tell your young lover to be certain the prince of Garnoff does not discover his presence." Rokan stated, once his back was turned and he had begun to walk away. "Such a troublesome age." With a flick of his wrist, a blade swiftly sailed across the room, underneath the bed which the young woman was once lying upon.

Once he was sure that the menacing assassin had gone, Oban took hold of the blade which had stricken just above his head within the stone bricks behind him. It was of good craftsmanship, fine steal, and the prince was not one to waist such a valuable thing.

He had been waiting for some time upon the ladder which protruded from the wall upon his pressing of the switch. The object had seemed to erupt from an unknown crevice the moment the brick slid neatly into place. It was an interesting mechanism, but he found it strange that it still functioned after so many centuries of rest. Perhaps Gashrious ventured the tunnel more often than he had at first assumed. After he had reached the top of the steps leading upwards, the lord had heard the assassin speaking, and thought it best to remain within the passage, though he had no idea how to close the hole which had opened beneath the royal chamber.

Soon, Oban found himself crawling out from beneath the lady's bed, making his way into the room where he found the young woman in her night gown. Holding the blade before him, the lord could not put to words the relief he felt in knowing the assassin knew not who dwelt beneath the opening, though it baffled him how perceptive the Dread Knight appeared.

"Are you alright?" He asked as he gave a bow of greeting, though he was certain that the tyrant king would not have his men attack the young girl. "I heard the majority of the conversation... I must admit it surprises me that you are one who can change form." The prince stated having witnessed few non military based dengen skills. Placing the blade within a pouch upon his belt Oban stood straight with the discipline of a warrior, even though at this time of night most men would not hold within themselves the energy or drive to do so..

Oban's expression seemed to change when she asked how he felt about the marriage. After all it wasn't often that someone other than his father asked him how he had felt about any situation in truth.

"I say...." He began "that even though neither of this have a choice in this marriage... should I have been given the choice I would have gladly chose you." Oban smiled, for it was true by every word. The young lord had come to appreciate the young lady's intellect and her kindness which was much like a flower in a winter storm among these people. Oban was without choice often, but for once he was glad of the choice that was made.

"And I assure you that you'll not need to transform when we leave for Garnoff. Your beauty is perfect as is." Many lords often seek those who could change form in the known world, for it is often seen as an opportunity to lay with many women without cheating. This disgusted Oban however, and so he would prefer it if she was who she was now.

"Of course" Oban assured her, for he had discovered the meaning near to the time the words themselves were spoken. "A ruse, one which would comfort both our fathers...at least until King Lucheston has passed, though I believe it to be many years from now." The plan was quite interesting, suiting the preferences of both his people, the tyrant's people, and the men of the Silver Knights as well. Skyron would be able to pose as heir, a position that the lord was sure his twin would desire, and so long as Skyron was satisfied, so too would Oban's mother Momolla. There seemed only consequence in the case of one among them revealing their ploy, something he found highly unlikely.

He wouldn't say it, but Oban was also thinking of other matters. He looked forward to relieving this intelligent young lady of her place within Doko's vile presence. In his short time among the people of the tyrant's city, even he himself had grown a distaste for the land. It was as if the soil itself rotted away at those who walked upon it. Oban also looked forward to seeing his father once more, for few could understand the young man like he. It seemed as if things were turning out for the better, even in the dire situation.